Everyone happy now!

A one-way mirror separates the little birdies from the top killer of song birds, the American House Cat. Not windows, not wind turbines. Bubbles' predation instincts come out in full force, watching the window mounted feeder, but fortunately, the one-way mirror film shields our feathered friends, and are none the wiser.  They eat calmly, inches from their nemesis.

Compassionate leave

 “Rolfsrud! Private Rolfsrud,” the mess sergeant bellowed. I had been in basic training for six weeks in a bewildering routine, which included a dreaded stint as KP in the massive consolidated mess hall. Report at 5 a.m. 

Breakfast dishes were being cleaned and stacked in a steamy backroom and my fellow recruits were stumbling through the chaos, harangued by the cook staff who delighted in pushing them.

“Here! Rolfsrud here!” I shouted back to the distant voice somewhere beyond this noisy hell.

 It was my savior.

“Report to the chaplain’s office now,” the mess sergeant commanded in softer tones.

Totally befuddled, all I could do was meekly follow the chaplain’s messenger outside and down the street, wondering what ever was going on. “Did somebody die? Was there an accident?” No one knew, of course, and didn’t care. Don’t ask, private.

I dutifully reported to the clerk in the chaplain’s waiting room, abuzz with dozens of draftees and volunteers, minding their own business.

“Rolfsrud reporting,” I said in my best military voice.

“Hmmm.” the clerk looked over his schedule. “Take a seat.”

I did. I found a comfortable spot in the corner of the air-conditioned waiting room. Aah. Missouri sounds like misery, and it had been for the past six weeks at Ft. Leonard Wood. This was wonderful. Bad news will wait, I decided. I had already been forgotten by the busy clerk. I sat there for a half hour. I should have prompted him, but didn’t. I decided to milk it and take on the role of the obedient draftee, doing what he was told and no more.

I sat almost motionless, wondering what misery I was missing back at the mess hall kitchen. The minutes passed deliciously.

I lost all track of time. Four hours? Five?

The chaplain finally noticed me and asked who I was. “I was told to report to the chaplain’s office and wait,” I explained. A stream of apologies came from the neglectful chaplain as he ushered me in to his spacious office. Then he explained that he was just a shirttail relative to me, had seen my name on a roster, and wanted to meet me. I had no idea who he was, but did everything I could to engage him and extend our meeting. We chatted amiably. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do for me. 

There wasn’t, of course. He couldn’t override any of the demands of my conscription. He’d already maxed his powers, getting me off KP. I thanked him anyway. He wrote me a pass back to the mess hall. I walked slowly back to my duty.

They were just finishing up when I reported in to the new shift mess sergeant, who pretty much ignored me.

I  returned to the barracks, refreshed after my day off, not questioning what had just happened, or bragging to bunkmates.

To this day, I can’t figure out the identity of this fine young southern chaplain. A whirlwind of subsequent activity left him in its wake.

But now I still wonder: Who was that man? I’d like to thank him.

Missy's new camper

Ready to roll to a summer of fun, Missy just acquired a dandy pull-behind camper. Lots of storage and features. Air, TV, fridge, shower, stove, heat, canopy, microwave.

No. She's not selling her house.....although she could.  

Solveig writes from her California garden.. .

 Oh my, the energy of rain, a little warmth—and spring is lively with romance!  I’m not talking about mosquitoes trying to kiss my nose, no. Yes, although the Ladybug Invasion is over, I did spot two ladybugs, one riding the other, on a leisurely walk in the greens.  And then there was a pair of scrawny-looking dragonfly-like insects clutching each other in the honeysuckle vine climbing on the deer netting fence.  

But I’m going up another level. There’s a mourning dove couple now hanging around the lower gardens who demonstrated for me it’s possible a cat and birds might get along, so this pair is making my garden their home:

The ladies meet at the Outback...again

 Note that matching walkers are parallel parked in handicap zone.

Some things were great, others not so much

 

The ascendancy of basketball phenom Caitlin Clark to the Indiana Fever for a paltry $76,000, brought me back to the basement of a one-room schoolhouse. I had four classmates back then, I believe, and the most athletic and competitive was Lorlee.

We had seen a few games and now dueled in a basket-less concrete space, with a half-sized basketball, stuffing it into the hole over the center supporting pillar, to score two points. She ably guarded me under the seven-foot ceiling. Having no guidance, we wondered about the rules regarding dribbling. Was it okay to put your hand under the ball when dribbling? We would later learn that was called “palming” and a definite no-no.

As a boy, I would go on to play varsity basketball and experience the thrills, cheers and support from noisy crowds in a huge modern gymnasium. Lorlee would not.

_____

The baby boom forced the country school board to hire a part-time teacher to help the stretched full-timer instructing the eight grades. Simultaneous instruction took place mornings in that same basement, on a picnic table. For convenience, Mrs. Raap kept all her materials in an unlocked corner cabinet, then left us for the afternoon. Very efficient.

Word got out that persons unknown had peeked into that forbidden cabinet and surreptitiously looked at test answers or something equally scandalous. Brought to her attention one morning by her partner, Mrs. Raap swiftly dealt with the matter.

“Would everyone who went into my cabinet, please stand and apologize?” she said calmly.

That was that.  In an act of courage and honesty brought on by an overwhelming conscience and need for relief, three miscreants, I believe, stood and took full responsibility for their actions.

Nothing further was said or done.

It was the worst of times, and yet the best of times.

Now, at the Lake of the Woods. . .

This week's visitor to Hotel California fished the mighty Pacific today. The International Falls resident (left) guides others to Greater North walleyes, lake trout and such, but this was a bit of a busman's holiday, as he tried his hand at some deep sea fishing.  Wayne will be here for a week. Stan stays on for a few more weeks. The garden is just starting to sprout new growth and there's a project blooming in the garage that needs attention.

While still at sea, the fishing duo sent this report. Don't ask for any IDs on this fish. Could be anything. They ain't walleye.

 

The next game could be his "Last Hurrah!"

Ah, reminiscing again. I try to live in the present, but sometimes you can’t help but go back. I take you now, in the wayback machine, to the days when the entire state would be gripped in basketball tournament fever, and radio and tv play-by-play descriptions were followed with great interest. Popular intensity, since then, has moderated somewhat. 

Today my long-time doctor texted me a yellowed newspaper clipping of a ballgame in 1982. He had a younger brother playing in the game, and they still treasure the memories. I was writing occasionally for the Chaska paper back then. Lots of fun for the town, as they pressed forward with a winning team. Here’s my account of the hilarity added to it by one classic small-town radio play-by play icon.

___________________

Wednesday, March 24, 1982 – the Carver County Herald

Thursday’s game could be his last hurrah

Just when you thought there was no room left for one more star on the Chaska basketball scene, just when you thought nothing could be added to the excitement of Saturdays overtime victory—KSMM plays the Jonckowski tapes.

Some of us are still shaking. 

The Jonckowski tapes, for the benefit of the timid who never wander far from WCCO-AM, are the play-by-play reports of the Hawks games on KSMM radio, Shakopee.  KSMM is not allowed to broadcast after dark, so they can’t carry live night games. Undaunted, the station plays back a recording of the game a day later, and after you already know the outcome and the score.

Sound dull? Not when you’ve got a game for a state tournament berth, and you rarely get more than a two-point lead… And Dick Jonckowski is screaming out the play-by-play.

Now a word about our announcer. Dick is not your average plaid-slacked, mellow-voiced radio announcer. First, and above all, he is a homer. He’s a sports fanatic, his Shakopee man-cave houses a trove of memorabilia.

For a time he was banned from the sidelines of the Minnesota Vikings football field, by none other than the Great Bud Grant himself, who thought The Junker was just hot-dogging too much in his job as stadium usher. Bud, like many of us, just didn’t understand him.

Never a doubt about Dick‘s loyalties.

Dick Jonckowski’s abiding dream is to broadcast a state tournament game. How do I know this? Because he told everybody, between gasps, during Sunday’s broadcast. No one was surprised, just concerned that his heart will hold out long enough. When he excitedly dropped the microphone during the final seconds of regulation play this week, and all we heard was seconds of suspenseful dead air, well, some of us thought it might have been the Big One for ol’ Dick this time.

The tape is a classic. The whole town is talking about it. Neighbors are bringing it from house to house. Mrs. Young’s Third grade class listened to highlights. Dieters use it as a sweat aid.

In case you have missed it, we’ve written down some highlights for you here. It loses something in the transcription, of course, you must read it with intensity.

He cheers:

“Come on Chaska, let’s go! You’re going to have to start rolling. I had a dream that this would happen, but I really didn’t think it would. (The score is 6–0). 

“All right, come on now, here we go, Hawkers!” (6-6)

He coaches:

“Hurry, Whitey! Can’t get it across, He’s going to be called for 10 seconds. No! Just barely made it.

“They’ve got to do something about the big guy. I believe if they put Preiss down low, they could get more baskets. They should be able to get a few chipping in, nice shots.” (32-31)

He’s candid:

“I don’t know if anybody thought the game would be this close. I was sure hoping it wouldn’t be. Chaska, 45–44, in a game that has me almost in a nervous breakdown.”

He didn’t like the officiating:

“Oh, no! They called it for an elbow. I don’t know where they’re seeing these fouls. I can’t believe this, I don’t believe some of the calls. I don’t understand it.

"Now they called charging! Come on, I’m sick and tired of this officiating. That’s the fourth on Lommen and Ronnie has been making all the calls. I can’t believe some of these calls.”

It was the final 25 seconds of play that just about did Dick in. Spectators reported seeing Jonckowski throwing his earphones and disappearing from view in his booth, then jumping up and down in his bright red shirt.

We pick up the play-by-play in progress. It’s loud and intense.

“Pass-in to Lommen with 25 seconds. Preiss up the floor to Dalhke. Dalhke holds it. Gives it to Lano. Oh, Lano was fouled twice, three times, and now he throws it out of bounds. They rule it was last touched by Chaska! They rule that Chaska touched it last! Lano threw the ball and thought it was deflected out by Fairmont, but they rule that Chaska touched it last!

“So they ruled that Lano last touched it, so Fairmont has a shot at the last chance for the last shot. -- Rosenberg, 29-footer, no good! Rebound, no time left on the clock, 8-foot shot, no good, that’s the game! Oh, a called. . . . .

(At this point, there is an unintelligible muffled word, emanating from the announcer’s booth. We won’t speculate.)

“I can’t. I think he called a foul! I think he called a foul with one second left. They’re calling a foul with one second left on the clock. That ball was just loose. You couldn’t tell who had it, you couldn’t tell who had the ball, either way you couldn’t tell who had it, just an unbelievable call, just typical of the way the whole game is gone with these officials.”

“ Oldencamp shooting for Fairmont. Free throw. If he misses  it’s overtime or if he makes, a loss for Chaska. Either one, on a very questionable last second call, very questionable last second call and Chaska wants a time out.”

Mercifully, we break for a commercial.

“At the Line is Oldencamp to shoot another.”

(At this point there is a microphone clunk. A full five seconds of silence elapses, leaving us to wonder if Oldencamp wins it for Fairmont or what? Then, gratefully, Dick is back)

“…..over.  Oldencamp at the, there’s only one second left. If he makes it, it’s over. Here’s his free-throw, it’s up, it’s no good. Overtime! Overtime! He missed it! Oldencamp choked. He choked. He choked, and we have overtime!”

Will he live long enough for state?

In deference to your blood pressure and our space, we’re withholding the play-by-play during the three minute overtime. Suffice to say that Jonckowski worked himself into a lather, reaching new heights of excitement. We pick it up at the end of overtime:

“It’s Chaska‘s ball and they win. Chaska wins another state tournament berth. Another state tournament berth for the Chaska Hawks. Oh, my God, unbelievable. Fairmont loses. They lose it. Chaska wins it”.

(Now we hear a gasping, and the ominous sound of deep breaths blowing across the top of the microphone.)

“Oh, I’m out of breath. (Gasp). I can hardly talk. Oh, I’m out of breath. Unbelievable win. Unbelievable win for the Chaska Hawks. (Gasp). Fantastic. I can’t believe it. I just hope I live long enough to go to the state tournament, unbelievable, oh I can’t believe this. This is fantastic. It might be the biggest thrill I’ve ever had because I’ve always wanted Chaska to go back to the state so bad, so I could be there. (Gasp). Unbelievable and the fans are on the floor, they’re going crazy. And I’ll try and be back with a wrap up.

“Holy man, I just can’t believe it. I’m just exhausted. “

We were too, Dick. Good luck now in the state tournament and Thursday’s afternoon live broadcast. Thanks for backing the Hawks, but take care of yourself. 

Please folks. Pray that the Chaska Hawks take an early 10-point lead and then hold it.

It could save a life.

——————————————

Forty-two years later, this is still one of life’s precious moments for me, the doctor and his brother, who won a berth that year in Minnesota’s Big Show.

It’s okay to reminisce.